Bump

Time runs out of room and splits ticks like hairs, bumping off walls all the way down…all the weighed down. Dropping knives like rain, dancing beyond reach. Sharp and shiny gleams reflect these accidents mid-air. Trips past each perch on wire on tack. A thousand gasps suffocate the space between too many eyes and not enough room to maneuver these plans right out of those windows. Everything hits the ground falling.

Crease

These bones crack and cross like wood. A pile of parts, collecting rust under light’s spot glare. Blink. Something on the roof, claws skitter like tacks from cars. Slide from moon to sides too dark. Blink. A heavy breath curls around corners crease, sunken and sinking into night’s pocket. Blink.

Things like this will never end. Too much song and dance, to crawl, it quits. Time cracks for glass and sand, poured out and spread, three piles left for dead.

Gray

Turn your back to shades of gray.

Each step counts the feet between. A final wish escapes and twists. The slimmest mist curling tips, but more like bones. A stones’ throw from sweet repose.

Turn your eyes to shades of black.

One final point to focus down the dark settle of things. Easy drift from coil to cloud, skip from drops of rain between your lids. Hammered shut now against the sun.

Everything turns.

Flaw

Designed with flaws in mind. Winding down to what meant not and tied in knots as each step folds, untold and rolled across and through. Each three planks met with floor and boards nailed to hold and push the cold back to where the wind sweeps up and shows our breadth and with creaks creeps as we try to sleep. Above, where our feet won’t slip on toes tipped with care and as the dark stifles each weak dare.